Seriously, that was my first thought when I saw it on my muted television last week. Lead, lead, everywhere, lead. I don't have a fricking clue what I'm going to do about Christmas presents at this point, maybe contact some Amish toymakers or something, but I thought I was safe with my friendly bumbo.

Nope. Apparently not.

Apparently some parents think it's okay to use them on tabletops:

What are you trying to kill me??? No, Mommy, no!!

Seriously, you need a recall to let you know you shouldn't leave your child alone on a high surface in that thing? Babies move. That thing doesn't have safety straps. Do the math. Never leave your child unattended. Babies 101, people.

Yes, I put my baby in the bumbo on top of the table. No, I am not a complete dumb ass. I never left her side during this photo shoot. See how my arms did not have the ability to clear the table of newly bought groceries because they were busy spotting her wobbly bumbo sitting attempts?

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Every Tuesday between dropping Jacob at school and Little Gym, Adam, Elizabeth, and I stop off for a healthy breakfast of donuts and soda milk at a donut place along the way. I mean, if you're going to kill time, you might as well be getting a sugar high while you do it.

Anyway, after going a few weeks, I no longer have to order. The ladies at the counter have my kolache, donut, dozen donut holes, and Pepsi ready to go when I get there. They have even kicked up the dozen to fourteen and fifteen and thrown in a free milk now and then, obviously at an attempt to nourish my soda-sharing, pastry-stuffing child. It's good to be a regular.

I like my donut ladies, but one of the reasons I keep going back to that particular place is my donut dudes. Every single morning, five retired men hang out there drinking coffee and shooting the shit. Every time I would walk in, one of the men would state, "she sure has her hands full" and they'd "mm-hmm" in unison and they'd nod in my direction and go back to their conversation. Over time they've begun talking with Adam, showing him the old nickel behind the ear trick, and taking him to see the fish tank. They coo at Elizabeth and take bets on what color her eyes and hair will be. They have included me as one of the guys. We have discussed the best Adam Sandler movies (The Wedding Singer), who should win the Heisman (Steve Slaton), and the weather, always the weather. If I'm a little late, they get concerned. If I have to miss one Tuesday, I guess I'll have to call to let them know. It really does mean a lot to me that they care. I heart my donut dudes.

It took me eight years, but I finally found my place here. Who knew it would be in a strip mall?

Friday, October 19, 2007

Today Elizabeth is six months old. It's been half a year since my last baby was born. In half a year she will be one. One means walking and talking and toddlerhood. It also means my days with a baby are numbered.

When Jacob was a baby I could not wait to shop the baby food aisle. In fact, I started him on cereal a full seven weeks earlier than recommended because I couldn't wait anymore. By the time the pediatrician gave us the okay to start the solids, he was already gobbling three jars of stage two a day. I was so proud of my little eater and couldn't wait until he could sit up, pull up, walk. Every milestone he attained was photographed and videotaped and then we pushed him towards the next one. Why did we do that? We weren't as forceful with Adam, but he was so gung-ho to be big, he just never seemed little. He crawled at four months so solid foods at six seemed long overdue and although he received his fair amount of fanfare over it, it really didn't seem like that big of a deal.

It sure does feel like a big deal this time though.

I no longer love the baby food aisle. In fact, I avoid it like the plague. When different pediatrician said we could start cereal at four months, I refused to hear her, telling myself that my regular, out on maternity leave, doctor would say six months and I waited. When the husband would tell me to pick up a box at the store because "she seems ready", I would always pretend I forgot, or they were out, or I could save a whole quarter getting it at another store. Today, though, she is six months old. As much as I would like to think she isn't ready, the fact that she grabbed a donut off my plate this morning and shoved into her mouth before I could blink, is kind of a sign that, yeah, she might want to try that good stuff.

So I took a deep breath, pushed back a few tears, and pushed my way into the baby food aisle today. I did it. It sucked, but I did it.

So tonight she feasts. On runny, bland cereal. At the table with the big boys.

Give me strength.

I can't even tell you about how she started rolling and scooting this week. That will just send me right over the edge.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

I am forever grateful to Dr. Karp, author of The Happiest Baby on the Block, for introducing the five s's, most specifically swaddling, to our lives. He truly saved our sanity in some wretched, horrid times. The miracle blanket became Elizabeth's best friend during "the colic" and really, if I could have married that green thing, I would have. Love, love, loved the miracle blanket! But, alas, all good things must come to an end. I think it is time we break up with our soft, snuggly, wraparound sleep inducer.

Elizabeth will be six months tomorrow. How? I don't know because I swear I am still recovering and shouldn't there be meals coming? Flew by. Anyway, Elizabeth has grown some in that time and the same blanket that swallowed her whole four months ago now has trouble covering all of her body parts. Fold it up and pack it away you say? There's just one wee problem with that. Elizabeth has no idea how to sleep without him since they've been together so long. Oh, we've tried, dear Lord, have we tried, but the minute her little back hits that bed it's like her arms have taken on a life of their own. Oh, the flailing. Then, the crying. Then, we're back scrolling the now playing list on the tivo until my eyes begin closing involuntarily and I dig out that groovy miracle blanket and give her a fix. You'd think that would be good and fine and we'd all sleep happily afterward, but no. MB, bless his heart, can no longer restrain those restless arms for long. Sure, he gives it the old college try, but eventually Elizabeth breaks free from the once wonderful relationship and, usually, winds up bopping herself in the head until we are once again consoling our sorrows downstairs with our old buddy Alton or our new buddy Chuck.

I would really like to make a clean, quick break for everyone's well being, but it seems that this might be one of those long, drawn-out, just-one-more-time break ups that really aren't good for anyone.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Monday, October 15, 2007

Thursday, October 11, 2007

So the husband comes in last night with two bunches of flowers (Kroger specials which are my favorite yet have no idea what they are) and a bottle of Pepsi (which he hates and I adore). He said he thought I was having a bad week and they might make me feel better. In other words, he knows I have stomped around in a snit ever since he and his mom concocted their devious plan and he thinks a preemptive gift is the way to buy my silence and slavery.

Yeah, it was truly sweet of him, especially when he equates buying flowers to flushing money down the toilet, but I will be the one to sweep the dead leaves off the table next week and the pepsi, well, it didn't last long.

But I would never tell him that. I thanked him and gushed over it all (especially the Pepsi. Can't get enough of that good stuff) and let him know that I would tolerate absolutely no smoking or reachable lethal medications in or around my house and if I found it, the kids and I would be staying at the lake for the remainder of "the visit" and he agreed. So there. She's still coming, but at least I've made my stand.

And as for a positive spin on the whole thing (as if the Pepsi weren't enough), I will not be at a loss for posting material during November's NaBloPoMo.

A while back, Janeen so nicely gave me some kudos in her blog by passing along this: I am sure she thinks I have forgotten about it, but I haven't. It really felt nice to know that someone out there finds my daily drivel to be interesting and thinkable, especially when I don't make special effort to be that way.

So, my mission following these bestowals, was to pass it along to five other bloggers who make me think, are really nice, and really give thought to what they write about. I have tried all week to narrow it down to five and I just can't. Picking a "winner" makes me kind of feel like those snotty girls at the grade school sleepovers who insisted upon having beauty contests where they were deemed most beautiful and I always came in last or got some sort of consolation prize like best reader or something. I didn't want anyone out there to wish Bloody Mary would actually show up in the mirror and cart me to hell, so I decided not to decide.

I have a blogroll full of people who make me think everyday. I have learned about life-threatening allergies, limb differences, ADD, speech delays, adoption, autism, and homeschooling. I have made connections with other moms and dads who try the best they can to raise their children and the fact that they sometimes struggle, makes me feel better about the fact that I sometimes struggle. I have made friends with people I might pass on the street and never recognize, yet know that they will be there to comfort me should something bad happen and share in my happiness when something good does. I got more comments and well wishes and concerns from my net friends when my mom was sick and when we found out we were having a baby than from my real life friends. That says something. Maybe that I don't have many friends and should step away from the computer, but it was appreciated nonetheless. So, see friends, there is no way I could choose just five bloggers. I consider you all to be nice, reflective, thinking bloggers as you make me think and laugh and relate every day.

Monday, October 08, 2007

If you haven't been to her new blog yet, you're missing out. She's just giving stuff away over there. Check it out.

My very own Columbus Day present.

As G*d is my witness, I will never buy diapers again! Well, except for Elizabeth and after all 960 of these babies run out, but still 960 diapers in my garage! It's like the lottery for poor parents. Thanks Erika!

I'm not going to leave this one up very long, so read it while you can.

I'm mad today.

Well, maybe mad isn't the word.

I can't really put my finger on the right word.

Overwhelmed, maybe? Confused? Angry?

My mother in law is coming. Here. To my house. I am not happy about that.

I'm not going to get into my husband's family logistics here, it's not my place. But, I will be spending two weeks with a woman a barely know, with my children who do not know her.

Oh, and did I mention that she hates me?

I am trying so hard to find some positive spin in this situation, but so far I can't. What began as a few days, turned into a week, and now it's two weeks, and I'm afraid of how long it will actually be when she gets here on Halloween. When my husband mentioned she wanted to come, like three weeks ago, he was planning on taking a week off work to spend with her, so really, no biggie for me, other than the extra plate at the table and extra laundry to fold, but I heard him telling her last night he was going to take a half day off while she was there and she'd be spending the rest of the time with me. What? I know he thinks I sit on my ass all day long, but in the harsh reality that is our life, I run this place. I am up early to cart the kid to school, I clean, I cook, I diaper and clothe the children (many times throughout the day I might add), I buy groceries, I discipline, I help with homework. On top of that, we have Little Gym, speech, MOPs, field trips, and playdates to a point that I am rarely at home anymore. When in hell does he expect me to entertain his mother. Oh, I know what you're thinking. My dear MIL can help with these things! But, no, she can't. I am not going to get anymore into it other than to say that she has some mental illnesses. Pretty much, I'm going to have another person to take care of for two weeks in November. I am exhausted now. I get about three hours of sleep a night and then I'm on the go all day. I am overwhelmed with the sheer amount of things I need to do to keep a family of five going, especially now that one of those five is in school. This is just not a great time for me to be dealing with this. The last time she came, Jacob was eight months old. She stayed one night. That one night was plenty, for us and for her. Just dealing with a baby crying and such tore her nerves apart. Why does my husband think it's going to go peachily with two more kids and less room?

AARRGGHH

But, I can't do anything about it.

She's my husband's mother. Sure, she's not like my mom and she's not like most moms, but she is his mother. Since my mom comes here whenever she darn well pleases and he's happy to see her, I can't very well tell him that entertaining his mom for two weeks is a going to be a chaotic freak show. I couldn't even remind him that he will have to keep an eagle eye on all her medications without him accusing me of hating his family. Again.

Oh, and did I mention she smokes?

Did I ever mention how much I detest cigarette smoke?

Yeah, my husband is under the impression that she has quit smoking (she hasn't) and even if she is smoking, she can smoke on the porch. When she was here the last time, my house smelled like smoke for days just from her hair and clothes (she smoked on the porch). Can you imagine what it will be like after two weeks? I do not want her holding my baby because I don't want my baby having to snort that shit off of her. Criminy! What if she were to chew on her yellow fingers? Man, I am going to be a drunk before she leaves, but damn, I won't be able to drink while she's here since she is so uber religious and drinking is a sin and the drinking might send her into a fit of anxiety and, oh man, this is going to suck.

How I Got Here

All my life I thought I'd be the perfect mother. I even majored in it. I aced all the child development classes I took toward my degree in, wait for it, Early Childhood Development and Elementary Education.
And then they were born. First Jacob, who is 8, then Adam, who is 4, and our biggest surprise, Elizabeth who is 2.
As much as I really wanted to be, I am finding out I am no June Cleaver. For starters, The Beav never had a baby sister.